Mon Dieu
by fearlesswinecask
Summary: CROSSOVER- Grantaire befriends a mysterious entity


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*Author's Note*

This story is a crossover with...oh, what would be the fun in telling? Read it and find out! This is my first story on FF.net and one of the few fanfics I've posted on the net, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated (as would suggestions for a better title...) Enjoy!

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Grantaire peers at Enjolras through the doorway of the Musain's back room, willing him to come over, to talk to him. Not that he has anything to say, not that he could even talk to him without snapping his defenses up, but he wants to talk, nonetheless. They're alone, the meeting over, and they're both in their element. Grantaire holds a bottle of absinthe in his hand, and he imagines he can still see the godly glow Enjolras seems to have whenever he talks of revolution. Finally, Enjolras does come over- Grantaire starts slightly in surprise- and he coldly shuts the door. Grantaire snorts.

"Of course...what would he have to do with a mere, degenerate mortal like me?" he rambles to himself. He slumps in a chair, kicks his feet on the nearby table. Mutters angrily, "By the gods..." 

"You rang?" comes a sardonic drawl from behind him.

Grantaire spins around in his chair, nearly falling out of it in his surprise. The man there- the one who wasn't there just a second ago- is regarding him with an amused smirk. He's tall, brown hair (receding hairline), brown eyes. His red and black uniform would give him a dignified air if he weren't slouched against the wall. And that uniform isn't something you normally see in Paris- there's no way he could have walked into the room without him seeing-

The man rolls his eyes. "That's because I didn't walk, mon ami." Grantaire blinks. Had he said that out loud? The man gives a long-suffering sigh. "No, you didn't." He walks closer, examining the seated drunkard.

Grantaire, speechless for once, finds his voice. Croaks, "Who the hell are you?"

The man shrugs casually. "I'm called many things. Suffice to say, I'm a god." He smirks, and Grantaire feels an odd tingling feeling in his temples. "A real god, unlike your beloved Apollo..."

Grantaire leaps out of the chair, knocking it over in the process. "You...how..." He steals a quick glance at his bottle-he didn't drink *that* much... His eyes widen as a dainty green fairy suddenly appears on the lip of the bottle.

She murmurs with the man's voice, "I'm as real as your so-called reality gets." The fairy is gone. The man is suddenly standing behind Grantaire, and he can feel his eyes boring into his skull. He spins around, noting uneasily that the man seems to have grown the slightest bit taller and more menacing.

He breathes, "Where are you from?" He'll accept that he's real for now, he won't think about how...

The man spreads out his arms and intones gravely, "The heavens." He holds his dignified pose a moment, then folds his arms and quirks a smile. "Nowhere you'd know about, ami." He notices Grantaire staring at his clothes and smirks. "So sorry...would this be more appropriate?" He snaps his fingers. There's a bright flash, and then he is wearing a very familiar red vest with gold trim. Grantaire is aware that his jaw is probably hanging open by now. 

The man appears casually sitting on the table- doesn't move there, just appears. He examines his fingernails, blanches and flicks off some unidentifiable grime. Almost to himself, "Horrible place, really. I don't see why Jean-Luc's so attached to it."

Grantaire, curiously, "Jean-Luc?" He realizes the man- thing- isn't French, despite his flawless accent.

The man snaps his head around to stare at him, and for a brief second, Grantaire sees something different in his eyes. He must have imagined it, for they're even more languid than before the next second. "A friend of mine," he drawls. Adds after a second, "He thinks he hates me." Laughs. "Familiar?"

Grantaire says wryly, "Very." And it is familiar, and he knows what he saw in his eyes... The man glares at him, and makes as to snap his fingers. Grantaire, recognizing the gesture, holds up his hands defensively. He can't keep the wry note out of his voice as he says, "I won't tell."

The man stares at him a second more, then drops his hand with a laugh. "I think I like you, mon ami...just as obtuse as the rest of your species, but amusing..." He leans back on the table, posing.

Grantaire studies him. Emboldened, he asks, "Why are you here?"

The man drawls, "To study the wildlife," giving Grantaire significant look. The drunkard raises an eyebrow, and the other man laughs again at the expression on his face. "Nothing personal, of course," he says mockingly. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's behind Grantaire. Grantaire feels a shiver down his spine at the breath in his ear. "I'm going to seduce you." A moment passes. "And then turn you into a cow." Grantaire hides the smile threatening to form. "And then make you eat a pomegranate and stay in my lair for the winter."

Grantaire turns around with a smirk. "I would think a god would be more original than that..."

The man smirks back. "Why? I can just snap my fingers and make you forget anyone thought of it before me." He wanders over to the bottle of absinthe and idly turns it around in his hands. "I need a good bottle of wine."

Grantaire blinks. "A what?"

With a sigh, the man gives him a look. "Don't be foolish, I know you heard me the first time." He glances at the absinthe again and tosses it aside. "A *good* bottle, not your usual." Grantaire notices that the bottle most definitely didn't hit the ground and files that away under his list of things to keep him up at night.

With a moment's thought, Grantaire gives him an address of a wine shop and the name of a wine. The man nods. "I suppose I should reward you..." He studies Grantaire, who feels that twinging in his temples again. He snorts. "Enjolras and a perpetually filled bottle of absinthe? Really..." He sighs. "I'll reward you with five questions. Ask me anything you want."

Grantaire looks skeptical. "Will you answer them?"

Innocently, he answers, "Of course."

Grantaire blurts out the first thing on his mind. "Are you really a god?"

The man gives him a withering look. "Yes. Don't waste your questions."

Grantaire ponders. "What's the meaning of life?"

Calmly, "42."

Grantaire gives him an odd look, but doesn't ask him to elaborate. He tries again. "Why are we here?"

"Why not?"

Forget that train of questions. "What's in my future?" A thick book suddenly appears in his hands, and he looks down at it in surprise. He can only read the title, _Les Miserables_, before it winks out of existence.

"That. One more."

Grantaire pauses. There's one thing he desperately wants to know, but... He looks up at the sound of a snap.

The man drawls, leaning back against the table, "Your Apollo has a little something to think about, mon ami."

Grantaire smiles. Quietly, "Merci beacoup." He means it.

The man shrugs offhandedly. "You can grovel at my feet as you'd like..." He studies Grantaire once more. Finally, "I won't erase your memory. No one will believe your drunken ramblings, anyway."

Grantaire, wistfully, "You sound like Apollo."

The man laughs. "Like Enjolras. Apollo is much more insufferable."

Grantaire grins. "Good luck with Jean-Luc."

"I don't need luck." He's in front of Grantaire, and gives him a kiss on each cheek in the proper French manner. He snaps his fingers, and he's gone. 

Grantaire gives the thin air an amused smile. He picks up the new bottle of absinthe on the table, the one with the green fairy winking seductively at him. As he walks out of room, he notices Enjolras sitting there, still doing homework in the candlelight. He watches him a long moment. "It's late," he says, more subdued than usual.

Enjolras starts at his voice and looks up at him. "Yes," somewhat thoughtfully.

Grantaire hesitates, remembers the man's words. "Walk home together?"

Enjolras nods, thoughtful expression still on his face. He stands, gathers his work. They walk out, side by side, in silence but not hostility.

The man watching silently and invisibly in the corner snaps his fingers and disappears. He has things to do.

***

Jean-Luc snaps closed his ancient copy of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ with a satisfied sigh. He would really love to finish it, but it was late. Already in his pajamas, he strolls over to his bed and climbs in.

He's just closing his eyes when he notices the bottle of wine on his bed stand. Curious, he moves so he can see it more clearly. His eyes widen at the vintage- 1832- and at the label, in French. Wondrously, he touches the clear surface of the bottle, watching the light sparkling in the dark liquid. It's then he notices the small piece of paper tucked under it. He slides it out and reads it. "Love, Puck," he says with an involuntary smile.

He isn't surprised by the flash of light behind him that lights up the room, nor by the weight of someone lying next to him, the hand on his shoulder, the breath in his ear. The rich voice murmuring, "Care to join me for dinner, mon capitaine?"

Jean-Luc smiles. "I'd love to."


End file.
